


Don't Cry, Don't Raise Your Eye

by Barbeauxbot



Series: Always Dragging That Horse Around: The Love, Marriage, and Everything Else In Between of Loki and Sigyn [12]
Category: Avengers, Journey into Mystery, Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics), Tumblr: Fandom-Cracksmash
Genre: Brothers, Gen, complicated families, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nori’s heart is broken. Varli struggles to piece it back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Cry, Don't Raise Your Eye

**Author's Note:**

> The background of this story is that Thor, Loki, the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, Lady Sigyn, and the twins Nori and Varli are all living in one large estate in New York. This is after Loki was reincarnated as a twelve year old but before Ikol regained control of his body. The woman who broke Nori’s heart is, in fact, Kate Bishop. Whom he encountered at the Avengers Mansion while delivering a message for Steve Rogers. (Yes, I got the boys’ names wrong, that was an error on my part but it’s too late to fix it now.)

Nori had been sent on an errand so routine and menial that Varli had elected to stay home and work on drafting a design he had taken as an independent study.

However, Nori’s significantly changed demeanor upon his return made it clear that something profound had happened to him in the midst of carrying out his duties that day.

It was his brother’s habit upon returning to greet all who were about, giving special attention to Theo and Mother, before going to the kitchen and shadowing whomever was preparing the evening meal, assisting when directed and stealing tidbits when the cook in question’s back was turned. He then would help Varli set the table and they would eat with the others. 

On the day of the profound change, Nori headed straight up the stairs without greeting anybody. Theo followed close behind, whining in confusion and concern. Nori ignored the hound, went to the room he shared with Varli, and lay face-down on the floor. 

And he remained there, immobile, for hours. 

“Ah, Nephew!” Thor grinned and clapped his hand on Varli’s shoulder hard enough to smart. But Varli was prepared and so did not flinch. This time. “Has your brother returned from the Mansion of the Avengers? I have not seen him since he departed several hours ago.”

Varli attempted to move quickly as he set the table, which was taking him twice as long without Nori’s aid. “He did return, but shut himself away in our room upon arrival and has not stirred nor spoke since.” He frowned. “In truth, I am concerned for his health.”

Thor and Sif exchanged a glance that spoke volumes, none of which Varli understood. He took a breath and mentally prepared himself for a series of half-truths and non-answers. “Did your brother speak to anybody while on this errand?” Sif asked, her tone so casual Varli knew this was the vital question.

“I do not know,” Varli shrugged. “As I said, he has not stirred nor  _spoke_  since his return.”

“Mind your tone, my son,” Sigyn corrected sharply as she sat down at her customary spot. “If Nori refuses to join us for supper then he may go hungry until he is willing to share our company again.”

All the adults deferred to Sigyn’s wishes when dealing with himself and his brother, and Varli knew that Thor and Sif would no longer speak of what was happening with Nori now that Sigyn had made her pronouncement.

So he would have to wait until after dinner to ask his brother.

* * *

Of course, after dinner he was tasked with cleaning up. Alone. As Loki had run off before anybody could suggest that help, and Nori had still not left his room, and cleaning up after supper was a task for children. 

The one benefit to being left alone at this task was that he could surreptitiously prepare a plate for Nori. Mother and Uncle were both firm on the rule that they must all eat together, and that none were to eat alone or in their rooms. But Varli knew this was a dire occasion, and not just petulance or distraction that led Nori to skip the meal. 

He slipped up the servant’s staircase, just in case anybody was in the foyer or see him from the living room and scold him for breaking the rules. He got to their room without being stopped and shut the door behind him. “Are you hungry, brother? Volstagg made applesauce with the meal today. With cinnamon. I believe this is one of your particular favorites.”

Nori was still laying face-down on the floor and did not move or speak or even look at him. Although it was apparent that he had managed to move at some point because there was music playing from the stereo. Some dirgelike Midgardian song, the singer droning  _It’s so shameful of me, I like you_ …

Varli suppressed a shudder and turned his attention to Nori. “Brother are you asleep? Are you ill? Shall I ask Mother to fetch a doctor?”

Nori was again silent for a long time. Varli was about to ask another question when he finally spoke. “No doctor can heal me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That sounds quite dire,” Varli sat cross-legged on the floor next to him and sat the plate near his face. “Did you see there are also potatoes mashed with gravy?”

“Food turns to ashes in my mouth. The very thought of it curdles my stomach. I do not wish to eat.” Nori pushed listlessly at the plate.

Varli narrowed his eyes and pushed the plate back. After all he risked to get the food to the room he could at least  _thank_  him. “Did you notice the roast chicken? It is quite spicy. Spicy enough even to please you. Which I know for a fact because everybody else said it was too strong and you are a masochist.”

Nori turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyes tortured. “Brother. The axis upon which my world has shifted. I will never be the same.”

Varli was quiet for a while, digesting this. The song changed. “ _Come Armageddon come Armageddon come…_ ” the singer droned. 

“Did you meet somebody today?” Varli asked finally, wondering if Thor and Sif had the right of it.

Nori made a strangled sound in his throat and covered his face with his hands.

“ _Everyday is silent and grey…_ ” the singer droned.

“Should this not be cause for celebration or… getting up off the floor and maybe calling this person or visiting them?” Varli prodded gently, utterly at a loss. 

Nori kept his hands over his face. “She rejected me. She thinks I am a spy.”

“What?” Varli blinked. “What did you  _do_?”

Nori lowered his hands and looked up at him, lost and hopeless. “I went to the Mansion to deliver the message from Uncle to the Soldier but I got lost and I came across this…” he shook his head. “She is the most amazing woman. Brother. She is beautiful and brilliant and a greater warrior than I could ever dream. She helped to destroy the starship of the Skrulls while you and I were engaging the foot soldiers in melee combat in our living room.”

Varli straightened his tunic slightly, his pride ruffled. “Yes, well. It is not as if that was  _easy_ , you know.”

“But she was utterly uninterested in me,” Nori continued as if he had not even heard Varli. “Why would she be? How could I hope to impress such a woman? I started asking her questions. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her.” The stricken look returned to his eyes. “And then she accused me of attempting to engage in espionage so I… I left.”

“Did you try telling her that you are not, in fact, a spy?” Varli arched an eyebrow.

Nori glared at him, irritated. “That is  _exactly_  the sort of thing a spy  _would_  say, Varli. How does one respond to accusations of espionage that do not reinforce the suspicions. ‘My good sir, are you a spy?’ ‘Of course not!’ ‘Oh, many thanks for putting my suspicions to rest!’” Nori frowned thunderously and turned back over to his stomach.

Varli sighed. “True. How long did you speak to this woman?”

“Kate.” Nori said, his voice muffled by the carpet. “Her name is Kate.”

“How long did you speak to this Kate?” Varli was bewildered. He had not been gone that long. At the most he could have spoken to her for a few hours.

“Long enough for my heart to shatter. It is no use.” Nori folded his arms over his head. “Leave me to die.”

Varli grit his teeth and snatched back the plate. “Fine, if you are so determined to die I will not delay you,” he spat and turned on his heel before stomping down the servant stairs to the kitchen.

He had finished vehemently feeding the leftovers to the dogs (Thori licked up the gravy and gobbled the chicken but left the rest. Theo happily devoured what Thori refused) and was engaged with spitefully washing the plate when Sif found him.

“You are troubled, my heart,” she stated calmly as she pulled a cheesecake out of the refrigerator and a fork from the drawer.

“Brother has ordered me to leave him to die.” Varli glared at the plate.

Sif retrieved a second fork and bumped Varli with her hip, urging him to sit at the table with her.

He sat next to her, close enough that their knees were touching, and accepted the fork. “I do not understand. He says he met some woman this afternoon and that now his life is over.” He picked listlessly at the cake.

Sif smiled fondly and swallowed her mouthful of cake before speaking. “It will pass. I promise.”

Varli stabbed the cake with his fork and Sif slapped his hand. He rubbed the smart away and then took a more polite forkful. “I cannot bear leaving him like this. I must be able to do something.”

Sif smoothed her palm over his hair and her hand rest on the back of his neck, smiling fondly. “You have noble impulses, my heart. But perhaps this is something your brother needs to work through on his own.”

Varli frowned. “What if he does not? What if he… gets  _lost_?”

Sif shrugged. “What if he does? Will you simply abandon him?”

“Of course not!” Varli’s eyes widen, the shock of her words as sharp as a slap in the face. “I would never abandon my brother!”

She smiled as if her heart were breaking. “Then what will you do?”

He chewed thoughtfully. “I wish to give him a map.”

“Sometimes a light to find one’s own way is better than a map.” She rested her chin on her hand and watched him, a fond smile hovering on her lips.

“Fine, a light then!” He waved his hands. “The metaphor is irrelevant. There is a shop near here, he always makes sure our path takes us past it. He looks at the instruments displayed there. I believe he desires one.”

She tilted her head and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. “Why an instrument?”

“My brother does not express himself with words, you know this.” He tapped his finger on the table. “When he is feeling thoughtful, he draws. When he is angry or frustrated or upset, he hits things. When he is happy, he runs or dances. When he is sad, he writes poetry. But he has not written anything. This concerns me. I feel if he had something to encourage him to express himself, he would have an easier time finding his way through.”

“You are a thoughtful brother.” She got up and began tidying the rest of the kitchen. “I am sure your efforts will not be remiss. Now, go see to your studies before I tell your mother you are neglecting them.”

“Yes, my lady,” Varli scampered quickly, not willing to risk his mother’s wrath or Sif’s deciding to make him finish cleaning up.

* * *

The shop itself was small and cramped and filled with a bewildering array of instruments, both electronic and not. Nothing looked even remotely familiar. The large stringed instruments that Nori had displayed such great interest in looked like they could be lutes but were far too big to actually be lutes. 

He straightned his tunic and smiled his best smile at the surly, bald, scruffy shop owner, who was standing behind the counter with his tattooed arms crossed. 

“Hello, my good man.” Varli spread his hands and strode in as if he were perfectly comfortable. “This is a marvelous shop, you have many fine wares.”

The man grunted and narrowed his eyes at him. “You need somethin’?”

“Of course!” Varli chuckled amiably. “That is why I have come to see you today.” He leaned on the counter, totally casual. Totally at home and not at all like an exiled alien god prince in a strange realm thrust into a situation he was in no way prepared to navigate.

“You one of them Asgard kids?” The shopkeeper’s skeptical look bordered on a glare. “I seen you lookin’ in the windows. And that … little one been in here a few times.”

“I am of Asgard, yes!” Varli kept smiling. “You have noticed myself and my brother, Nori. It is actually on his behalf that I have come to speak with you today.”

The shopkeeper glared in truth. “What about the little one?”

Varli waved his hand dismissively. “The young prince is not one of my brothers and not why I am here.”

“Alright.” The shopkeeper tilted his head back eyed him with obvious suspicion. “What’s up with your brother, then?”

“Nori, my brother, that is, has long desired one of your fine instruments. He has been saving up the funds necessary to purchase one and pay for lessons but I wish to expedite this process as a gift to him.”

“Classes are twenty-five bucks a pop, three times a week. Unless you want a private lesson, then it’s a hundred.”

Varli shook his head. “No, no. I wish for him to be in a class.”

The shopkeeper’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Which axe he got his eye on?”

“I am not sure but I believe one of the…” Axe? The name of this instrument was ‘ _axe_ ’? “Axes that do not require to be, ah, plugged in. Would suffice.”

“So an acoustic.” The shopkeeper trundled out from behind the counter and led him over to the display of acoustics. “Which hand does he play with?”

“We are sinister.” Varli said, eying the instruments closely, trying to determine what differentiated one from the other.

“What?” The shopkeeper glared.

Varli blinked. “His left hand is dominant,” he said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand to illustrate the point.

The man grunted and nodded. “Lefthand guitars here.”

Varli’s eye was immediately drawn to a gleaming, black lacquered beauty of a an instrument with elegant gold detail. “That one.” It was the one. There could be no other.

“That’s six hundred bucks.” The shopkeeper grabbed the instrument by the neck and held it up to him. “You can afford that, kid?”

He could not. “Of course I can.” He tested the size of the instrument. It fit neatly in his hands, and the shopkeeper nodded approvingly.

The man went back behind the counter, pulling out a  black carrying case lined with purple felt and began writing up a bill of sale. “So how many lessons you want?”

Varli handed him the guitar, pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and began to count it out. It was the last of his share of the winnings from the time they had joined the dice game in the alley. Which they were now banned from.  _Mortals are such sore losers_. “So, six hundred for the instrument itself and at least seventy-five for the first week of lessons would bring us to six hundred seventy-five, yes?”

“Plus tax, yeah. Nine percent in the city.” The shopkeeper watched him closely.

“So that brings the total to $735.75?” Varli looked up at the shopkeeper.

“Yeah.” He frowned. “You do that in your head?”

Varli shrugged. “Simple arithmetic.” Of course the other bit of simple arithmetic was that he only had $575. 

“So.” The shopkeeper looked at him expectantly.

“So.” Varli tapped his finger on the counter. “You know it occurs to me that you will benefit from this arrangement.”

“Say what now?” The cordial professionalism Varli had managed to wring out of the man evaporated and the cold, hard air of suspicion returned.

“You know.” Varli spread his hands and shrugged. “The whole ‘dangerous Asgardian’ thing appeals to quite a few of the young, impressionable types. And my brother and I are identical, so you are aware that he is very handsome. I believe his presence in your classes will attract more students. He is very good at the brooding artist sort of look. Like this.” Varli pouted a little and did his best imploring eyes, performing a remarkably good imitation of his brother. Though it would have been more remarkable if they weren’t identical.

“Stop screwing around, kid.” The shopkeeper grabbed the money and started counting. 

Varli chuckled amiably. “I should be asking for a finder’s fee.”

“You should be getting the hell out.” The shopkeeper cast a baleful eye. “You’re sixty bucks short.”

“Look.” Varli dispensed with the act, sacrificed his dignity and began pleading in earnest. “My brother has had his heart broken by some Midgardian woman and is now completely intolerable. He will not stop sighing and laying on the floor whilst listening to decades-old musical recordings. I need him to get out of the house. I _need_  him to learn this instrument. I need him to meet other girls. Or boys. Or—“ He almost said ‘horses’ but then stopped himself. Mortals were always so pedestrian when it came to these things. “Whatevers.  _Please_. I am begging you. What I am offering is  _everything_  I have.”

The shop keeper tilted his head and eyed Varli appraisingly. “What’s he listening to?”

“Some relentlessly dreary man who goes by the name ‘Morris Sea’ or something.” Varli shuddered. “Sometimes he breaks up the monotony with a group that goes by the name of ‘The Cure’. I do not know how they are allowed to operate under such false assertions. They only seem to make him worse.”

The shop keeper’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll take him on.” 

“Excellent!” Varli clapped his hands together, grinning widely. “You will not regret this, my good man.” 

“If I have to kick him out there’s no refund.” The shopkeeper said, his tone flat.

“Believe me, Nori is bewilderingly obedient.” Varli laughed.

“I’m giving you a steep discount, kid. Maybe you should take the guitar and get out of here before I change my mind.” The man shook his head as if he were already having second thoughts.

“But of course.” Varli grabbed the receipt and the instrument and bowed. “I promise you, you will not regret this!”

“Hit the bricks, kid. Tell your brother his first class is on Tuesday at three.”

* * *

Varli cut across the park, wasting no time in delivering his hard-earned prize back to his twin. Who was exactly as he left him, in their room, wallowing in heartbreak and terrible music, Theo curled up beside him whimpering softly in concern.

“What is this?” Varli tried, and failed, to disguise his disgust.  _It’s their home and I’m welcome no more_  the singer trilled, while somehow also droning the song like a dirge.

“They call themselves The Smiths,” Nori mumbled, still face-down on the floor.

“Smiths?” Varli tilted his head. “What sort of smiths? Gold? Silver? Black?”

Nori’s shoulders tensed. “I do not know. They simply are smiths.”

Varli tried listening. He reminded himself to keep an open mind and to listen to what his brother was taking solace in as a means to better understand him.  _And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die_ trill-droned the singer over piping flutes. 

It was unbearable. “What a lovely sentiment.”

Nori made a strangled sound.

“Brother, if you could perhaps look up, I have something here you might be interested in.” Varli set the case down next to Nori and rubbed a smudge from the case’s trim with his sleeve.

“Nothing interests me.” Nori declared in a hopeless voice. “There is nothing left for me in the realm of the living.”

“Well,” Varli sighed. “I suppose I could inquire about having this instrument delivered to Helheim, then. Because I do not believe lying on the floor until you die of a broken heart qualifies you for Valhalla, I hope you are keeping that possibility in mind.”

“I do not deserve Valhalla.” Nori mumbled. “Wait. What instrument?” He looked up, and immediately zeroed in on the case. “What is that?”

“This, Brother, is what is known as an acoustic guitar.” Varli grinned proudly as he snapped open the latches and lifted the lid. “A left-handed one, specifically. Apparently there’s a difference. I tested the size, so it should fit comfortably. The shopkeeper assures me it is of the highest quality.” 

Nori sat up, his brow furrowing as he began to fret. Varli steeled himself for the objections. “Where did you get this? Did you steal it?”

Varli narrowed his eyes. “Of course I did not. Here is the bill of sale. I purchased it with my share of the winnings.”

“But you were supposed to use that for you.” Nori’s eyes grew even more fretful as he frowned.

“I did.” Varli tried to control his rising irritation. “Stop questioning my choices.”

“I do not know how to play.” Nori turned his face back to the floor.

“You will.” Varli assured him. “Once you begin attending classes. I have already paid for the first week, and your first lesson is on Tuesday at three o’clock.”

Nori was quiet for a long time.  _But fresh lilaced moorland fields, cannot hide the stolid stench of death_ trill-droned the mush mouthed singer. 

“Hela’s saggy tits how do you listen to this,” Varli muttered.

“You truly believe I will be able to play?” Nori said finally.

“Of course you will!” Varli threw his hands up. “You take to new skills faster than anybody I have ever known.”

“Not magic.” Nori lifted his head, frowning.

“Then it is fortunate that this is a mortal instrument and thus does not require magic to play.” Varli lifted the guitar out of the case and offered it to him. “Perhaps with time you can play heartbreaking songs for the maiden in question, and thus win her over.”

Nori slowly sat up, and  Theo began yapping in excitement and wagging her tail so hard her entire backside wiggled. “I very much doubt that, Brother.” Nori said, his eyes mournful though he reached for the instrument. “And I would be a fool to try.”

“I think she is already the fool.” Varli pursed his lips. Clearly the women was an idiot if she rejected Nori. 

But Nori was no longer listening. He was strumming his fingers over the strings and pulling a plaintive, aimless tune from the instrument. “This pleases me,” he stated in his soft and self-assured way.

Varli beamed. “I shall leave you to it, then.” He got to his feet and made for the door. “But do not leave me to the evening chores alone  _again_.”

“What is Fandral making for dinner?” Nori looked up, suddenly fearful. “He is not making fish chowder, is he?”

Varli shook his head. “Meatballs. And you  _know_  Fandral makes the best meatballs.”

Nori strummed thoughtfully. “I will aid him. He makes the meatballs well but he does not like mushrooms and never puts enough in the gravy.”

Varli smiled so hard his face hurt. “Very well. I will leave you to it.”

He then slipped out of the room and skipped down the stairs, his heart light with the feeling of a job well-done, when Loki stopped him on the landing.

“Is Nori really dying?” He asked, his brow furrowed and his lips turned down an fretful look reminiscent of the one Nori made all the time.

“Did he tell you he was?” Varli snorted. ”He was exaggerating.”

Loki grabbed his sleeve and stopped him from moving. “What is  _wrong_  with him?”

“He puts too much stock in the opinions of a simple-minded mortal maiden.” Varli sneered, not bothering to hide his contempt for the woman ultimately at fault, by his estimation.

“Wait. She rejected Nori?” Loki’s look grew even more concerned. “Soft-spoken, bashful smile, sad eyes, dashing warrior, soulful poet, perfect hair  _Nori_?”

Varli grit his teeth. “Yes.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he looked out into the middle distance. “There is no hope for any of us.”

Varli shook Loki’s hand off of his arm. “Why do you care about this? You are _married_. To  _Mother_.”

“She describes herself as a widow so I am fairly confident that is no longer the case.” Loki tilted his head. “You know I feel oddly insulted by this?”

“I am sure Nori appreciates you taking offense on his behalf.” Varli rolled his eyes. “Are we done? I was hoping to get back to my studies.”

Loki frowned at the bedroom door. “You are certain he is going to be alright?”

“Positive. I bought him a guitar. He will be so thoroughly enraptured with learning a new skill that he will forget all about the idiot.” Varli straightened his tunic.

Loki looked up at him for a long moment. “You are a good brother.”

Something stirred in Varli’s heart. A tug of longing. Or maybe regret. “Thank you, Father.” He felt his cheeks grow hot with a flush. “But I have my studies.” 

And he continued down the stairs and to the library, too fast for Loki to stop him.


End file.
